


Life Imitates Art

by MotelsandDiners



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dad!Dean, Fluff, Gen, slight angst, slightly AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-28
Updated: 2016-09-28
Packaged: 2018-08-18 09:51:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8157934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MotelsandDiners/pseuds/MotelsandDiners
Summary: First published work. Whoo! Anyway, I absolutely love the idea of Dean being a dad, so I had to write this. 
Honestly, what do eight-year-olds even have nightmares about? A world-wide shortage of candy? Well, no. But it didn't much matter what it was about, because Dean would rescue his little girl from absolutely anything.





	

            The night was comfortably cool, the wind an easy, soft whisper that caressed the skin gently like a lover. The moon was high in the sky, a full rounded, clear, piercing globe of white and splotched gray that gave objects a sharp contrast to the surrounding darkness. Crickets chirped and the occasional firefly would blink to life before disappearing into the inky blackness of the night. Haunting calls of coyotes and crooning owls sung their lullabies to any still awake, their song carried through the air and into the bedroom of a young girl, who was doing anything but enjoying the stillness of the night.

            The balmy wind rolled around the shadows of her room, seemingly scoping out her small, nondescript bedroom for danger before it journeyed its way to her bed, ruffling white sheets and cooling the sweat slicked hair stuck to her forehead. Her curtains were flapping, swishing in the wind and sending playful shadows scurrying across her moonlit floor.

            The sharp twist and jerking of her small limbs mimicked the swish of her curtains, and her quiet whimpers were overpowered by owls, and the hiss of cars on the road. Fists were cranked in bedsheets so tightly, it was sure to warp them, and pillows lay haphazardly on the floor near the head of her bed. Trembling lips and furrowed brows were a testament to her state of sleep, hasty breathes were a vocal confirmation of the nature of her dreams.

            Her prolonged silence was only a product of the fear-stricken state her dreams had imprisoned her in. However, when a cat outside her bedroom window startled itself, and went skittering off into the night with a terrified yowl, she woke with a desperate, shaky gasp. Her eight-year-old mind was quick to search the shadows of her room for the star-role of her nightmare. She was only slightly sated when she found she was alone in her moon-kissed room. The light an eerie, silver, pale luminescence that had her belongings looking otherworldly and off-kilter. Maybe it was just the terror still racking her mind.

            When her eyes flickered toward her door, and thought of the dark hallway outside, she shuddered. But, the thought of the door a few feet away from hers, and who was asleep on the other side of it had her legs itching to move. Still, the fear from her nightmare had her frozen on her bed, hands grasping the sheets pooled around her waist. The house was completely quiet, ominously so, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t catch the comforting sounds of her dad snoring.

            And so, it was the thought that she was alone that had tears rolling down her cheeks. She was shaking in her bed, too upset and overcome with tears to even turn on her bedside lamp. It was after many minutes of silent tears, that her fear and hysteria rose despite her attempts to calm down. Her breathing stuttered and choked on a sniffle, and then earnest sobs were pouring out of her, her soft teary voice cutting through the silence clearly. It was in no way, full-blown wailing, but it was loud enough to wake him from across the hallway.

            When she heard sloppy, thumping footsteps in the hallway, the logical part of her mind told her that it was ‘It’s ok, it’s dad’, but the irrational part of her mind that was still trapped in the heated delirium of her nightmare told her that the monster in her sleep was coming for her. She tried to scramble back on her bed, but finding that her legs were completely tangled in the sheets, she began crying even harder.

            The swift swing of her door and its quiet creak had her sobs rising to a crescendo, and she was a trembling, horrified mess of ‘scared witless’ in the middle of her bed.

            “ Lex?” The light was flicked on and Dean swore quietly, wrenching his eyes shut. However, he forced his eyes back open because, ‘His little girl was crying, all alone and he was on a mission, dammit’.

            When she laid her tear-filled blue eyes on Dean standing in her door way, one hand up in front of his face to shield his eyes from her overhead light, she was filled with relief so overwhelming, her breath stopped completely for a moment. And then she was crying even harder, her bad dream rising up in her mind, as fresh as it was ten minutes ago. The sheets fell from her tight fists, and she was reaching for him, little arms stretched out in front of her.

            Dean was across the room in a second, lifting her out of her silky prison with so much ease, he became her literal hero in that moment. She was clutching him with such dedication and desperation, Dean didn’t try to protest the vice-like twine she had around his neck. She was crying into his neck, just under his jaw. One arm was under her, the other was rubbing up and down her back soothingly, and Dean had started half-heartedly walking around her room, silently brooding.

            It took a good five minutes, but she eventually dwindled into a quiet, sniffling, almost calm, little girl in his arms. She was securely snuggled under his neck, clammy hands now gripping his t-shirt around his collar-bone.

            Dean sank to rest on the foot of her bed, Alex balanced on a strong thigh, and she knew he wanted to talk, so she leaned back into the arm around her a bit reluctantly. Red-rimmed eyes looked up to meet concerned forest greens. A large, calloused hand gently brushed hair out of her face, and detoured to swipe at lingering tear trails on her cheeks.

            “What’s wrong, baby girl?” The question was simple enough, so she decided on a simple answer.

            “Bad dream,” her eyes darted all over his face, avoiding his eyes.

            He huffed, and combed a hand through her sweat dampened hair. “Tell me.”

            She blinked up at him, unsure, scared. It was almost like, if she said the words, it would somehow make the possibility more solid. But, she knew her dad could put her fears to rest.

            So she began to tell him all the gory, scary details the best she could with her eight-year-old vocabulary. For most of the recounting, she kept her eyes fixed on the collar of his t-shirt, though she could still see his facial expressions shift in her peripherals. She had tapered off near the end of her tale, her voice stuttering to a weak stop.

            She was at the worst part of her dream, and even though she was safely in her dad’s arms, she still felt fear and sadness grip her bones like iron shackles. Her tongue felt heavy in her mouth, and she began wringing her hands in her lap, anything to stall the end of her dream. But Dean was attentive and worried, a terrible concoction for Alex who was hoping for patience.

            “What else?” Dean asked, sweeping thick locks of her hair behind her ears.

            A hiccup caught her off guard and startled her tongue back to life. “And then it got you. J-just like- “Her stuttering devolved into more crying and sniffling, and she couldn’t keep her tear-filled eyes locked on Dean.

            Without a word, Dean pulled her close, curling her into his chest, a hand rubbing up and down her back in silence. Dean wondered if she caught the reality of the monster in her dream, or if she still thought they were just things that ‘lived under her bed and in her closet’. Dean hoped it was the latter, not that it mattered. Whether or not they were real to her, they still haunted her.

            Her nightmare though, had him feeling guilty. She was having dreams about losing him and here he was going off on hunts, on ‘simple salt-and-burns’ because he was stir crazy, because he _needed_ to hunt, because he hated the idea of something supernatural killing his wife and not taking up arms. Because at the end of the day, Dean was still a hunter, it was all he knew, it was in his blood and left little room for anything else. It was in the back of his mind, a thought that would often have his teeth grinding and fists clenching on the steering wheel on the way to a hunt while Alex would be at home, waiting for him to come back: _You’re just like dad._

            “I-it was just a dream, right?” Alex’s wobbly voice pulled him out of his thoughts. “You’re not going to- “ She abruptly stopped and leaned back to look at him, her fists cranked in the fabric of his t-shirt.

            A memory hit him: the first time Sam had told their dad he was afraid of his closet, and John’s cold indifference as he handed Sam a .45. He thought about the road their dad had set them both on, told them they should be afraid of the dark. Told them there are monsters in the dark, and while part of Dean knew it was practical to let her know at some point so she could protect herself, knew that life never stayed peaceful for the Winchesters, the only thing in him that rose to the surface was a sentence, a mantra that burned in him stronger than all of his struggles: Don’t be like dad.

            His hands smoothed her hair back, and cupped her face. “Of course it’s just a bad dream,” he said, and dropped a kiss on her forehead. “I’m not going anywhere, baby.” He stood, settling her on his hip, and her arms went around his neck. “I’m staying here with you; I’m going to make you pancakes in the morning, take you to the park when I get home, and tuck you in at bedtime.” He pecked her on the nose. “Just like always,” He promised.

            She nodded, a tiredness in the gesture. She laid her head on his shoulder, and before he even made it to his bedroom door she was fast asleep.

            When Dean laid down, Alex on his chest with her head under his chin, he made himself a promise. One that he had made and broken many times: he’d give up the hunting life. But this time, he’d succeed. He’d do it for her. She shifted, snuggling into the warmth he provided. Dean pulled her close, an arm thrown around her and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her hair. No matter what, she always smelled faintly of wildflowers.

            It was many minutes before he fell asleep, his mind wandering to the case he promised a couple of other hunters he’d take care of. After this one, he’d call it quits, he told himself just before his eyes slid closed.

           

_I look inside myself and see my heart is black_

_…_

_Maybe then I’ll fade away and not have to face the facts_

_It’s not easy facing up when your whole world is black_

           


End file.
